Love Me Quickly
by newvagabond
Summary: Ratchet/Optimus Prime. Plug 'n play. Fluff. Short and sweet. The Autobot leader, despite where his hands were, had a gentle smile on his plate. It was more comfort than lust, but Ratchet maintained that his friend could be such a screwplug sometimes.


**A/N: ****Ratchet/Optimus Prime. Plug 'n play. Fluff. Short and sweet. **

I have several ficlet ideas for these two and this was meant to be a 3 part ficlet collection. But it came out better than I thought it would so I think it deserves to be on its own. These two are just too cute for me. Dx Uuugh.

Song inspiration for this: "Quickly" by John Legend featuring Brandy. Heh.

_The news said the sky is falling, the globe is warming_

_My country warring, leaders are lying, time is running_

_Nowhere to go_

_I want you to love me like you know the world is about to end, baby, quickly _

* * *

Ratchet was in a sour mood. Not only did the mission fail, but after the day's repairs he'd have to stay up likely for a few cycles processing more energon and making adjustments to his tools. The injuries Optimus came back with were baffling to the processor. How in the Pit did he get a shopping cart stuck in his armor? And there was thick Earth tar all over the Prime's servos.

With a weary ex-vent, the doctor inspected a gash. He was mildly impressed that it hasn't leaked but he was still annoyed. And trying really hard to ignore Optimus' face.

"And just what are you smiling about?" Ratchet asked gruffly, smacking a bandage over the wound. It fizzled with static. He'd have to somehow make more of those too. His fingers already ached thinking about it.

"I was admiring your medical expertise," Optimus replied, catching his medic's gaze and getting a you-are-so-full-of-scrap look.

Arcee was sitting only yards away cleaning her pedes and stopped to roll her optics knowingly. Oh, boy. "C'mon, Bumblebee," she called, tugging the yellow 'bot by one of the doors sticking up from his back like wings. He gave a naive couple of beeps but followed after the femme.

Ratchet ran a scan and grumbled about levels. "There's a fresh batch of fuel if you..." he trailed off awkwardly, mouthplate thin on his face. The Prime had been quick to slip servos to the medic's middle. Servos that were still black with gunk.

"No," the doctor protested firmly, staring down at a hand currently teasing a chassis seam. He seemed to realize something and started, pivoting to look around. When had everyone left? He wanted to pull those damn hands off of him, but he'd get dirty and oh, wow, a thumb dipped in the space where his thigh connected and he shut his optics tight for a moment.

"Why not?" Optimus asked. The Autobot leader, despite where his hands were, had a gentle smile on his plate. It was more comfort than lust, but Ratchet maintained that his friend could be _such_ a screwplug sometimes.

Ratchet's processor was quickly becoming useless and he wasn't even able to really think about what to say. "I... Because!"

"Because," Optimus repeated, raising his optical ridges ironically.

Ratchet bristled, embarrassingly aware of the steam to his plating. "Because I have work to do!" he asserted, putting his hands on Optimus' wrists to seize the tickling. He could feel the tar sticking to his armor and frowned.

Ratchet was much too tense, much too worried. The mission hadn't gone the way they wanted but everyone was okay. That was what was important. The Prime didn't like seeing his old friend in a bad mood. Besides, there was always something he was working on. Calibrations just for maintenance, logging coordinates, double-checking, triple-checking... Optimus would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy watching his medic work. But right now he missed him, and they had a moment alone.

"There is always work to do."

"Yes. Well." Optics cut away in an amusing attempt at resistance. "Your servos are filthy. I'm not cleaning tar from my grill the rest of the—_Optimus_!"

Optimus had a unique way of, well, getting his way. He somehow was able to do it without being greedy or forceful. Without another word he'd simply smiled and lifted the smaller Autobot onto his lap. Optimus took his stunned surprise as an opportunity to gently press his mouth to the top of the doctor's helm.

Ratchet shifted, still keeping his faceplate tense despite the fact that his field had fluttered excitedly. Dozens of conflicting messages fired in his system, the strongest being something that made his spark jittery every time he bridged Optimus to battle.

He gripped his Prime. Protective, possessive, relieved. And, ah, charged. "H-Hurry," he finally vocalized.

There was no time for groping or cable-play. They plugged in to each other, fans in a restrained whirr and Optimus shifted Ratchet atop him so their pelvic plating met at an angle. This allowed Ratchet to lift his legs around the large 'bot and hold on tight. It was a quick frag with straining, short thrusts from Optimus to maintain friction and add more heat to their systems. Both bots turned their vocalizers down and ventilated hard against each other, taking turns biting down on whatever plating they could reach.

Ratchet didn't have time to warn Optimus when his system reached a critical temperature and gasped airily. They shuddered together on the medical berth with muffled Cybertronian words, plating so close they could feel each other's sparks.

Later when Arcee commented on the tar stuck all over Ratchet's backstrut, he kindly told her to shut her damn mouth.


End file.
